


regression (freudian)

by fyborg23



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Emotional Baggage, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 01:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2090361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fyborg23/pseuds/fyborg23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shea blinks, and his younger face blinks back in the mirror. Shea's beard is gone, most of his scars are gone, and he looks down. He's skinny again, and the tattoo on his bicep is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	regression (freudian)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, thuyulu had the **_g r e a t e s t_** idea of [deaged!shea.](http://thuyulu.tumblr.com/post/93529239173/weber-looked-old-as-fuck-when-he-was-younger) And then I wrote something on my tumblr, and tentatively suggested to her about my writing sexy-times, which she was super enthused about. Additional thanks goes to lostcoastlines and ayal for moral support. **Warning for questionable legality; Shea is eighteen-ish, which may or may not be morally ok**

Shea wakes up with a tickling sense in his throat and groans. He doesn’t need a cold, not with the preseason coming up and meet-and-greets to do. Shea slides out of bed, and lurches towards his bathroom, flicking on the fan light instead of the main light so he can spare his eyes for a few more minutes as he adjusts to  _being awake._

Shea slides open the drawer, thumps two packets of Emergen-C and looks for the hydrogen peroxide to gargle with afterwards. Gross as hell, but having a snotty nose on ice is even grosser.

Shea’s so preoccupied with finding the plastic brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide and trying to run over his mental calendar he doesn’t bother with anything else. He tears open the Emergen-C and pours it in a glass, fills it with water and slams it back. The tropical flavor is fucking gross, tastes like fake pineapple come, and he grimaces. Fills up his glass with a bit of hydrogen peroxide, and water, and he tilts his head to gargle—

He catches a flash of his face in the mirror, reflected in the dim light, and Shea chokes on the gargle, sputtering diluted hydrogen peroxide everywhere. 

Shea blinks, and his  _younger_  face blinks back in the mirror. Shea’s beard is gone, most of his scars are gone, and he looks down. He’s  _skinny_  again, and the tattoo on his bicep is gone. 

Shea thought he didn’t change that much from— Shea looks down on his leg, and he still has the tattoo from his time with the Rockets. So, Shea  _thinks_  he’s 18, ish— and for a moment he wonders if he can get away with it. Hide it until  _this_  goes away. It  _has_ to.

Shea sighs, and steps into the shower. He doesn’t even have to shave much, which is a change from having to rinse his trimmer a million times.

Shea runs his hand through his hair, and it’s thicker. A bolt of panic shoots through him—  was he balding? Shit, baldness is genetic, isn’t it? What about helmet hair, shit. 

Shea hates this whole thing already and it’s not even eight. Shea would love to bag on the whole day, watch his netflix queue.

But Seth and Roman are waiting, and they’re nosy as hell.

Shea’s predictions are proved right when Roman narrows his eyes at Shea walking into the meeting room, and Seth shoots him a questioning look. Pekka knows something’s off, and Shea would rather not deal with this, thanks.

Dicky sneaks up behind Shea and pats him on the back, says, “Hey, Webs, what’s going on.” Shea grunts— he’s not sure if his vocal register is even in the  _same_  place, and Dicky narrows his eyes, “Did you chug slim-fast or something, you look…  _thin_.”

"Did you wax your face?" Wills ask, and Shea glares at him.

"No," Shea says, and Pekka hums like he had a theory that just got confirmed.

"You got younger," Pekka says. Everyone in the room looks at him, and Pekka shrugs, "It’s clear. And he’s missing his arm tattoo."

Everyone then looks at Shea’s arm, and Shea hates this scrutiny. He mutters, “It’ll go away, be quiet.”

Lavy pops in and booms, “Be quiet about what?”

Shea locks a frantic look with Pekka, and Pekka’s face smooths over, cool and icy as he smiles, “Oh, a surprise party for Seth, which’s not going to be a surprise anymore now that Seth knows.” 

Bless Pekka for being so  _good_ , and Shea sinks back in his seat, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Lavy clucks, and waddles over to the board, and Shea prays for everything to go back to normal.

Seth looks like he’s thinking up all of those comebacks he didn’t have when Shea got on his back about training, and Shea doesn’t want to give the kid ammunition. 

Or Roman, who— has  _filthy_  things going through his head, Shea knows that look.

Shea  _thinks_  he’s legal but— yeah, no. _  
_

And Dicky? Shea dreads to know what Dicky thinks.

Pekka is going to hold this over his head. 

Shea hates his life.

#

Shea hates it more when the Wild comes to town.

Shea looks at his sweater hanging in his stall and idly wonders if there’d be any chance of Sutes becoming blind to Shea’s  _condition_. And snorts to himself.

Sutes may have run off with that— that—  _bastard_ , but Shea and Sutes started fucking when Shea was this age. Shea flushes, and curls his hands into fists. Yeah, Sutes would know something’s  _off_ , and Sutes being Sutes, he’d damn well comment on it at some point.

Lavy’s going to match Shea against Sutes— and that fucking hussy— so there’s no chance of Shea being able to keep his distance.

“Hey, you all right?” Dicky asks, and Shea turns to look at him. Dicky just raises his hands and says, “I know how you get normally whenever we play the Wild.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shea says, setting himself down heavily on the bench. Dicky raises his eyebrows and rubs at his tattoos before he decides not to say anything else. Shea looks down at his hands— they look wrong, like overlarge paws on a puppy— and sighs.

Pekka looks up, and Shea shakes his head. Pekka clicks his tongue, and Shea has to tamp down the surge of irritation. It’s  _so_  nice of everyone to be concerned. Shea clenches his teeth, feeling anger boil in his guts— more so than usual. Shea  _forgot_  that part of being a kid, being so pissed at the slightest things and  _then_  getting pissed about being pissed. Shea’s almost positive that between the ages of 15 and 19 he was one big red blur of hormones and anger. And now he gets to experience it again. Joy.

Roman and Seth give each other looks that Shea can’t understand, and he swallows. Good for Roman and Seth, then. Shea’d normally be worried about Roman being too— whatever for Seth, but Seth doesn’t seem like he’s riding a emotional rollercoaster like Shea was at that age— or  _is_ , right now. How could Seth be so calm? Shea doesn’t understand it. He’s jealous as hell, he’ll admit. Shea has spent most of the  _week_  trying to be twenty-eight and failing. Seth—

Shea shoves in his earbuds and cranks up his ipod. He has a game to play.

The game is the game, no matter how old Shea is, and there  _is_  one benefit to this mess. Shea still remembers how to position himself, and being this young means he can go for a lot longer and harder.  _Heh_ , he smirks to himself.

Shea’s smirk turns into a grin when he turns on the jets to catch Parise off guard and smoosh him against the boards. Shea flicks the puck away, and Neal manages to glide it into the net past Backstrom. Parise shoves Shea away, and Shea bares his teeth at him.

Shea can feel Sutes’ eyes on him, but he ignores it in favor of cellying with Neal.

The Preds step off the ice with smiles on their faces, and Shea hums with smugness. It’s a dumb preseason game, no points or anything, but Shea likes  _winning_. Especially against Sutes. Shea walks into the locker room, ready to sit down and take his gear off, but Fiala, the kid, looks at Shea like he’s trying to figure him out.

Shea arches an eyebrow, and Fiala blushes as he looks away, breaking eye contact with Shea. Shea licks his lips, reminding himself not to be stupid; he’s just happy about the game, it’s just understandable he wants to  _fuck_. Shea strips off and jams himself into the nearest shower, the water on cold.

Shea shivers, and of course his brain reminds him that he and Sutes blew each other in this very room. Shea bites back a moan. Why does he  _still_  remember that, why does he still go back to it like a tongue poking at a cut lip. Shea scrubs himself raw, promises himself to jerk himself hard as soon as he gets home.

Shea slips out of the shower by himself, and he pulls on sweatpants. He’s not going to talk to the press, he just wants to go home and not think  _too hard_  about Sutes talking him through sucking him off. Shea twirls his truck keys around his fingers, and walks out of Bridgestone Arena, his mind quiet for once.

Shea’s stomach drops and his heart leaps into his throat when he sees Sutes leaning across his pickup truck just like  _old times_.

Sutes straightens up and says, “There’s something different about you, Webs,” and reaches towards Shea.

Shea knocks Sutes’ hand away and says, “Whose fault is that?”

The center of Sutes’ eyes harden before he steps closer and brushes his fingertips across Shea’s chin. Shea can see Sutes putting two and two together and getting four, and Shea holds his breath. Sutes licks his lips, and presses Shea against the truck, the door handle digging into Shea’s back.

“You’re younger. I don’t know how, but you are,” Sutes breathes, “before you grew that permanent five-o’clock shadow—” He breaks off, clearly remembering what they did around that time. Shea gets a surge of petty happiness seeing Suter flush and then blanch.

Shea curls his lips, “Trip down memory lane, Sutes?”

Sutes presses Shea against the truck— he weighs more than Shea now, fuck— and says, “Fuck off.”

“Not what you did then, was it?” Shea says, pressing his crotch against Sutes’ pants, and Sutes curls his hands into Shea’s thin shirt.

Sutes’ mad, Shea can tell by how he’s  _bristling_ , and god, it’s  _fantastic_  to get his own back after all the times Shea’s thought about him and that fuckface being together.

“Fuck you,” Sutes says.

Shea presses his head back against the side window, and he can feel Sutes sliding his eyes down Shea’s broad throat, and Shea hears a smothered  _fuck_  before he feels Sutes’ teeth against his throat. Sutes bites down, leaving little marks that Shea can feel, and Shea’s hot all over. Shea  _remembers_  this, how Sutes would mark his neck up like this at the beginning—

Shea gasps as Suter slides his hand over the front of Shea’s sweatpants, feeling his dick through the thin fabric. Sutes pushes down the elastic, and Shea can feel the slight chill of the night air on his dick before Sutes wraps his warm palm around it. Shea reaches across and shoves his hands into Sutes’ curls, and smirks down at him.

Sutes looks up, and his mouth hardens. Shea shows his teeth, and Sutes presses closer against him, pulling Shea’s sweatpants out of shape as his hands curve around Shea’s dick and ass. Sutes has good hands, and Shea pushes up into them, saying, “Missing this?”

Suter hisses, “You never shut up when you need to,” but he strokes Shea off anyway, loose and sloppy, just the way Shea does himself, and Shea fucks up into Sutes’ fist easily. Sutes’ good, even if he’s leaving sucking bites at the base of Shea’s neck, snaking his other hand up Shea’s shirt and pinching his nipples. A dark thought flashes through Shea’s head,  _what if that slut liked his nipples pinched_ , because this is  _new_ , and Shea comes almost against his will, jealously and lust burning through him. Shea mutters an soft  _ahh_ , and splatters Sutes’ hand and himself with come.

Sutes looks down, lets go of Shea like he just realized how bad he fucked up, his cheeks flushed with either green or red. Shea smirks, and scrubs himself with the hem of his shirt, and says, “Sure you don’t want me to do you?”

“No— that’s— no,” Sutes says, and a hot swooping feeling, maybe triumph, goes through Shea’s stomach. Shea hasn’t felt this good after an encounter with Ryan Suter since Sochi, when Shea watched Suter do a quick skate of shame off the ice.

Winning gold was just the topper to beating Sutes and that fucker.

Shea pulls the keys out of his pocket and says, “If you’re sure…?” making sure to bend his head just so.

Sutes’ face turns a definite purple, “No. No, thank you,  _Shea_. Why are you acting like this—”

“Like what,  _Ryan_?”

Sutes blinks, like he missed someone splitting the D, but recovers, “A teenager, Shea. Hasn’t it occurred to you why you’re one?”

Shea has refused to think about it. A quirk of.  _Something_. Sensing blood, Sutes says, “You have issues.”

Shea glares back at him, “Says the man sticking his hands in my pants,” and slides further away from him, rounding around to the driver’s side of the truck.

Shea can’t hear Sutes with the door closed, but Shea knows Sutes well enough to know he’s saying, “You’re a fucking pussy, Weber,” as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Shea puts the pickup in gear and flips off Sutes with his free hand. No knowledge required.

Fucking Sutes.

#

Fucking Roman and Seth, Shea mentally amends.

They’re on his couch, playing with his dog, and Roman is flipping through channels fast enough to give him a headache.

“You ok?” Seth asks.

Roman turns around, lowering the remote, adds, “We saw you having words with Suter.”  _And **words**_ , the arch of Roman’s lips seem to be saying, but at least he’s not saying it. Shea forces out a sigh and plops himself between them.

Seth flicks his eyes down at where Shea’s sitting, and says, “Don’t sit between the cushions, you’d wreck them.”

Shea suppresses a smirk, and scoots closer to Seth, both of them now sharing the same cushion, “Now I’m not.”

Shea can feel the warmth of Seth’s thigh through his sweatpants, and fervently hopes that Seth doesn’t see the small smears of his come across the hem of his shirt. Shea shifts slightly, and Seth props his bare feet up on the coffee table. Seth’s feet are long, with toes that almost look like fingers, and Shea can see a small patch of hair on both of Seth’s big toes. Seth wriggles his toes, in a wave, and Shea looks back at the TV.

Roman coos, and both Seth and Shea turn in his direction, and Roman gives a lazy smile away, “You’re a sight.” Shea can feel his face get hot, and Seth’s lucky no one can see him blush much.

Seth sprawls across the back of the couch, and Shea tries to ignore Seth’s long brown limbs, but fuck, Shea forgot _this_  part of being a teenager. The feeling of being constantly  _hungry_. Seth smiles at him, and Shea smiles back, his hands itching to push up Seth’s too-big shirt and map the bumps and divots of Seth’s torso.

Roman licks his lips, his eyes lidded, and Shea bites his tongue. Just because he’s horny as hell doesn’t mean he should even try anything. Even if the thought of Roman pressing his callused hands against Shea’s thighs makes Shea’s dick jerk against the elastic waistband of his sweatpants.

Seth has his arms thrown over the back of the couch, and Shea’s almost lulled by the chirping of angry reality TV shows until Roman straightens up and turns off the TV. Seth curls his fingers around the back of Shea’s neck, and says, “What happened. Seriously?” into Shea’s ear.

Roman’s looking at him, the color and the expression in his eyes undefinable, and Shea’s stomach drops through the floor. Shea tries to shrug Seth off, but Seth’s grip is like iron, and Shea’s unpleasantly reminded that he’s a lot closer to Seth’s size these days.

“Well?” Roman says, and Shea grits his teeth.

“Which one of you is the good cop and the bad cop?” Shea retorts, and he can feel Seth snort behind him. Roman stands up and looks down at Shea.

“Seriously, Webs, you’ve been like this for a week now. Don’t you think that means things?” Roman asks.

“And you were good friends with Sutes then,” Seth says, smooth as he pleases, “maybe very good friends.”

Shea swallows, and Roman paces a few times before he brings himself to say, “You haven’t really… resolved things.”

Shea jerks, and Seth holds him back, smoothing a hand over Seth’s hair. Irrationally, that makes Shea relax into Seth’s arms, and Seth pulls him closer, “It’s all right, yeah?”

Shea bites down on his lip, because he’s got Roman looking at him like he  _knows_ , and he can feel the outline of Seth’s  _dick_  against his thigh. Shea’s only human; sure, he’s thought about fucking them. But like this?

Seth smooths his hand down Shea’s torso, and Shea doesn’t flinch when Seth pushes up his shirt. Shea feels like he’s on display, and  _fuck_ , he twitches when Roman licks his lips and steps closer. Roman flicks his eyes at Seth and says, “Jonesy has a theory.”

Shea licks his lips, and leans his head back against Seth’s shoulder, “Yeah?”

Seth probably grins as he weaves his hand into Shea’s hair and says, “Regression, yeah? Supposedly you’re struggling with impulses you can’t quite deal with, which—” Seth smooths his hand over the bulge in Shea’s sweatpants, “sounds familar?”

Shea swallows dryly, “Maybe.”

Seth  _humphs_ , and adds, “So because you have a hard time, you slip back to a younger stage, as a way to release those pressures. Which probably is better than putting a slapshot through someone’s head.”

Shea blinks. It’s all very reasonable. For you know, being like  _this_. Seth hums and asks, “Well? What do you think?” softly, just like how he’d ask Shea if his slapshot was any good. Shea leans back against Seth and smiles thinly. It makes a sick sense.

Shea brings himself to say the words, “How do you  _suggest_  resolving it, then?” even if Shea  _knows_  what the solution would be. Roman can’t just lick his lips like that without a reason.

Roman licks his lips again, and Shea can feel Seth’s dick twitch against his thigh, which makes  _his_  dick get a little harder. Roman pulls Shea up, and Shea stands. He looks down at Roman, who’s skimming his hands around Shea’s waistband, and Seth curls his hands around Shea’s hips.

“Bed, bed, would be a good place,” Roman says, his accent thicker. Somehow, they manage to fumble into Shea’s bedroom, and Seth gently pushes Shea towards the king-sized bed. Shea glares; Seth’s getting too cocky about the whole “being the same weight” thing.

Seth smiles, and Shea wants to bury his face in the pillows at how it makes him feel. Instead, though, he yanks off his shirt and sweatpants, and gets a curl of gratification as Seth flicks his eyes up and down. Seth takes his clothes off in record time, and Shea pulls Seth down with a hand on his arm. They both turn to Roman, who looks like he’s a bit dazed.

Seth wriggles his ass, and challenges, “You going to stand there,  _Josi_?” Shea finds himself giggling just a little, and Seth smothers it with a hand on his mouth—

Which makes Shea think about  _other_  things on his mouth.

“Maybe I was thinking about what to do,” Roman retorts, yanking off his clothes, and Shea watches Seth lick his lips as Roman slides atop the sheets naked. Shea slides a hand over Seth’s shoulder, and Seth bites his lip before he leans in and kisses Shea.

Seth is surprisingly practiced, not too much tongue, and the sort of biting pressure that goes straight to Shea’s dick, and Shea rubs against Seth’s thigh, which makes Seth moan and shove his hand into Shea’s hair. Shea almost jumps when he feels Roman’s hands on him, stroking down his thighs and creeping towards his inner thighs, fingers cool against Shea’s overheated skin. Seth moans as he grinds against Shea’s front, and feeling how hard Seth is shouldn’t make Shea blush, but it  _does_.

Roman bites the back of Shea’s neck, and Shea arches his neck back in a harsh pant. Seth mutters something, maybe _fuck_ , but Shea isn’t too sure. Roman squeezes the pale skin on Shea’s inner thighs softly, and says, “Get on your side,” and Shea turns over on his left side, facing Seth.

Seth’s eyes meet Shea’s, and Roman practically smirks as he says, “Seth, what do you think?”

Seth has a  _gleam_  in his eyes, and he strokes Shea once, firmly, before he scoots down— no kissing his way down Shea’s torso or anything— and licks Shea’s dick. Shea pushes up into Seth’s mouth, and Roman pinches Shea’s thigh, “No manners?”

Shea doesn’t have an answer, because Seth is suspiciously good, his tongue sliding over the head of Shea’s dick, and Shea closes his eyes because fuck, he’s just ready to pop. Roman hums, and Shea can feel Roman moving behind him, his thumbs sliding over the curve of Shea’s ass and teasing the cleft. Shea muffles his moans, pressing his face against a pillow, and then Roman  _licks_  Shea’s asshole. Shea would move, but Seth’s holding him down, sucking _nicely_ , and Shea wants to die. Roman’s dirty, and Shea feels exposed as Roman presses his tongue in in small teasing darts.

Seth hollows his cheeks then, and Shea makes an ugly sound, sliding his hands over Seth’s smooth shoulders as he tries not to fuck in, tries not to be  _greedy_  for more of his hot mouth. Fuck, it’s hard, because Roman’s circling his fingers around the rim of Shea’s asshole and making Shea flash on the last time he was fucked—

Seth slides his hand over Shea’s balls, and Shea twists between Seth and Roman, and  _then_  Roman presses against Shea’s taint, making Shea feel overloaded. Shea wants to press down, press  _back_ , but fuck, Roman’s moving further down, teasing at Shea’s balls with his mouth. Seth slides his lips against the side of Shea’s dick, leaves small sucks against his balls, and Shea  _whines_  when he feels their mouths meet.

Seth has perfect hands, jacking Shea off, and between their mouths working between his legs and Seth sliding his fingertips against Shea’s foreskin—

Shea claws at the sheets as he comes, smearing Seth’s hand with white, and he jerks as Roman presses a dry fingertip against Shea’s asshole. Seth kisses Shea’s thigh, and much to Shea’s mortification, it’s enough to make him  _think_  about getting hard again.

Seth looks up, and Shea can feel Seth smirking as he pulls himself up alongside Shea. Roman presses his front against Shea’s back, and kisses his neck carefully, says, “You’re louder than—”

Shea cranes his face over his shoulder, shooting a  _I dare you_  look at Roman, and Roman smiles. And presses his hand against Shea’s ass, which, fuck.

Seth kisses Shea, says, “Roman’s pretty good at fingering,” which makes Shea  _think_  about Roman fingering Seth, making him come all over himself before Roman fucks him—

Seth’s voice is so  _confident_ , like he knows from experience. Shea feels an irrational surge of jealously, says, “That how you learned to give blowjobs?”

Seth shrugs, “Not a babe in the woods,” and that makes Shea feels even more jealous; mainly because when he _actually_  was Seth’s age he was trying not to fuck too much in closets. Instead of trying to work out those _thoughts_ , Shea kisses Seth, bruising and biting his lips. Seth pushes back, and Shea can feel himself getting hard again.

Roman hisses something in German, and Shea bites his own lip as he feels the slick slide of Roman’s lubed fingers into his asshole. Shea has to make himself not grind back, and Seth pries his lower lip from his teeth and says, “You don’t have to be quiet.”

Shea licks his lips, manages, “That so?” He moans when Roman presses a finger against his prostate, and Seth just smiles in reply. Shea’d be ashamed at how easy it is, to lie between Roman and Seth as Roman opens him up and Seth strokes down his side, but it feels too good.

Shea moans just as Roman twists his fingers in him, and Seth says, “Do you want Roman to fuck you?”

Just thinking about Roman sliding his dick into him, rocking into him until Shea feels  _full_  makes Shea swallow, and he says “yes” softly. Seth doesn’t make him say it again, and Roman hears Shea anyway, pressing the tip of his dick against Shea’s asshole.

Roman slides in painfully slowly, sending small burns up Shea’s spine, and Seth kisses him through it, thankfully smothering Shea’s embarrassing moans. Shea can feel Seth’s hard dick against his abs, smearing his stomach with precome, and Shea impulsively says, “Let me suck you off.”

“Fuck,” Roman says, curling his hands around Shea’s hips, and Seth looks like he’s been hit with a two-by-four, but Shea just wants to— be  _useful_. Shea urges Seth on his knees, and reaches out to press his lips against Seth’s dick. Seth tosses his head back, and Shea smirks, sucking and tonguing the head, sliding his hands up Seth’s thick thighs.

Roman says, “You look hot sucking Seth off,” and Shea moans, makes himself take more of Seth’s dick, and he can feel Roman stretching him just the right side of painful. Roman thrusts in slowly, and Shea wants Seth to move, to fuck him too. Shea squeezes Seth’s ass, and Seth bucks into Shea’s mouth, almost chokes him. Shea sucks harder, urges Seth on with his hands as Roman slides into him steadily, pushing Shea up against the bed and Seth.

Seth’s got some sweat at his temples as he fucks Shea’s mouth tentatively, and Shea’s sweaty too, getting fucked by them. Seth presses his long fingers against the bulge his  _dick_  makes in Shea’s cheek, and Shea muffles a hum, which makes Seth fuck in, stretch Shea’s lips, and Shea can almost cry at the friction of the smooth sheets against his dick.

Roman’s fucking Shea a little harder, his hands splayed against Shea’s chest, and he scrapes a whisper into Shea’s ear, “Flick your tongue against the underside, that drives Jonesy crazy,” and Shea does as he’s told.

Seth shouts wordlessly, grinds against Shea’s face as Shea frantically works his tongue against Seth’s dick, and Shea can feel Seth come hot and salty in his mouth. Seth fucks him, his hips stuttering, and Roman’s got his hand in Shea’s hair, holding his head still. Shea feels used, and then Roman pounds into him once, or thrice, and comes with his teeth against Shea’s shoulders.

Shea pants for air as Seth slides out of his mouth, and he involuntarily licks his lips as he sees Seth’s spent dick. Seth lies on his back, looking like he’s been shocked, and Shea  _put_  that look on Seth’s face. Shea can feel his pulse beating along the bite marks Roman’s given him, but he’s too turned on to care about any future pain.

“Fuck, that was hot,” Seth mutters, and Shea smirks as he grinds against Roman, and Roman moans as he slides out.

Shea’s painfully hard, and he wants to rut against both of them, any of them until he comes, and Seth licks his lips as he eyes Shea’s dick. Roman presses a hand against Shea’s thigh and says, “You could come, couldn’t you,” and before Shea can answer  _that_ , Roman slides down and sucks him  _meanly_.

Shea bucks up into Roman’s mouth with a shout, and Roman grazes him with his teeth accidentally, and Shea heaves against Roman before he comes with a shake all over. Roman licks him through it, and Shea throws an arm over his face and tries not to  _whine_ , but it’s hard when it feels so  _good_  and slightly  _wrong_.

Roman scrubs his mouth against the sheets, and Shea’s too weak to touch Roman. Seth curls up against him, warm and sleepy, and Shea closes his eyes, muttering, “Yeah.”

#

Shea wakes up, squinting against the harsh morning light, and realizes, yes, that  _is_  Roman and Seth in his bed. Shea reaches down to adjust his morning wood, and he pauses. He looks at his hand— and yes, that scar is back. Shea reaches up and yes, his perma-stubble is back. Shea slips out of his bed, and looks in the mirror.

He’s never been so happy to see his own face, and he suppresses a whoop of joy; there are people  _sleeping_  after all.

Seth stirs as Shea comes back in, and his eyes open as he takes in Shea, age 28. Seth folds himself up and says, “I like it when I’m right,” and fuck, Shea knows what  _that_  smile means now.

Roman wakes up, and blushes when he sees Shea, and doesn’t smother a  _fuck_   fast enough. They’re looking at Shea like slightly stunned cows, and Shea likes  _this_   balance of power.

Shea smiles, “You took advantage of me, guys, you know.” He pauses. “Turn-about is fair play,” and he leaps on his bed—

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](http://www.hastybooks.tumblr.com)!


End file.
